


Sleight of my hand (a quick pull trigger)

by flashindie



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 06:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18492883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: It’s only a minute, maybe two, before Donnie’s walking back down the hallway, clutching a balled up pink knit blanket in his hands, andright, Rio thinks, biting back the pissed off laugh in his mouth.Right.-Rio gets back the dubby or That Missing Scene from 2.07.





	Sleight of my hand (a quick pull trigger)

He can still see her in his rear-view mirror, standing back in the alley, lit up by the street lights, looking like a lick of flame – the white hot of her pale skin, her strawberry blonde hair somehow red as embers in the night. Sees it when she swipes furiously at her eyes, the way her chest heaves, and he doesn’t have to hear her, doesn’t have to be so close to her to know that she’s crying. 

Still, he thinks, pulling back out onto the road, losing sight of her, his body still thrumming, live with - - with _what?_ Anger? Yeah, fuckin’ anger. He’ll take that - _still_. 

Still.

How many times had he told her never to go in? That that wasn’t on her. That that wasn’t a part of her fifty. Her fifty was movin’ product and cookin’ books, and lookin’ her cleanest, _Nine to Five_ , Dolly Parton-self while she did it. And okay, sure, maybe he didn’t tell her that _exactly_ , but it ain’t really a science that someone like her has no business being alone in rooms with guys like that. Hell, guys like _him_. 

He drops his foot a little heavier on the accelerator, feeling the car surge below the weight of it, his body pushing back into the seat, leaning off it, pushing back again. His hands tighten around the steering wheel as he weaves his car between traffic. 

And he knows exactly what she did. Can picture it. Can see the way she squared her shoulders and pushed out her jaw, can see all the ways she played at bein’ hard to try and hide all the ways she _ain’t_ , and just - - he blinks, his grip on the steering wheel growing white knuckled, his own jaw rocking forwards. 

She has no fuckin’ clue. 

And shit, man, now apparently her kid’s gone? He meant what he said to her – there ain’t no money in snatchin’ somebody’s little girl fresh from dance class, especially not from leafy green suburbs, not even in their line of work. Hell, _she’d_ said it to him what feels like years ago (God, how long has he even known her?), Demon’s gun pressed to her temple – nobody needs that sort of attention, least of all inner-city pushers workin’ back-end Craigslist deals to move cholesterol pills to people with no damn insurance.

But, he thinks - - if she’s _right_ \- - if this guy really is that dumb, if her kid is really - - 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel.

*

He gets three of his best guys to meet him there. His ask-no-questions-guys, his long-time-know-too-much-guys, his hey-we’ve-met-her-guys, and fuck, if he doesn’t hate that the last one is apparently now A Thing.

Side-stepping bloody mattresses and scrappy car parts and half-emptied white goods (and smart, broadcast it, boys, he thinks, jaw twitching, fuckin’ morons), he raps his knuckles against the door, leaning back a little in preparation for the swing. He can hear yelling coming from the inside, a couple of curses, the smash of a bottle, and then the footsteps, almost too heavy down the hall towards them, and then the door is open, and it’s a boy really, staring back at him, gormless and dumb. Rio slips on a wide, serpentine grin. 

“’Ey,” he says, pushing swiftly through the door, stepping so close into the boy’s space that he rockets backwards into the wall with a _thud_. “Routine inspection.” 

His guys are on his heels, forcing their way easily into the house, and the place really is a shithole. Somehow gauzy in it’s leanness, in it’s underuse and lack of furniture, and really fuckin’ dirty. Stinks of sweat and fast food and month-old blood, and something’s tightening in him imagining her standing in here, opposite these guys, in her sweater and her mama jeans, and nah, Rio thinks, he’s not doin’ that now. 

They come to a stop in the living room, and there are four guys he can see – the boy from the hallway, some half-dead, drug-fucked fuck in a chair, and some guy who could be Demon’s lowlife double, and then Donnie, with his buzzcut and his glassy eyes, already reaching for his gun, eyes wide and wary as he stares over at Rio. 

“Hey, man,” Donnie says cautiously, and Rio tilts his chin up at him in a tacit greeting, turning a little to watch Demon come up to a stop slightly to the left behind him, Tye moving to stand between the fucker in the chair and Demon’s double, and Bullet blocking the door. “Nice night for a visit.” 

“Ain’t it?” Rio agrees, voice controlled and he’s still sure her kid ain’t here, but he nods enough that Demon tilts his head, striding off down the short hallway to check the rooms at the furthest end of the house. Donnie squints watching Demon disappear from sight, and Rio rolls his shoulders back a little, pulling his gun out of the back of his jeans, feigning that Demon’s looking for other gangbangers and not a little girl, and hell, to be fair, Demon’s sweep does have the added benefit of lookin’ for both. 

Donnie looks back over at him, slipping on a goofy grin he probably thinks looks disarming. 

“Anything I can help you out with?” 

“Just like to know who I’m dealin’ with,” Rio says, folding his arms over his lap, angling his golden gun to glint below the shitty lights. What can he say? He likes to show it off. Donnie’s gaze flicks down to it, and then back up to Rio’s face, and he nods slowly, mouth slightly open, and Rio looks passed him as Demon comes back down the hall, shaking his head just enough for Rio to know he was right. He flicks his chin up, gesturing to the rest of the house, and watches Demon go ahead without complaint. 

“Thought we did all that when we got into business together,” Donnie says, and Rio shrugs. He can hear the boy’s nervous breathing, feel the gaze of Donnie’s other guys on him, the confusion thick in the room, and hell, he doesn’t mind that. Kind of likes keeping people a little confused. 

“Think of this as your quarterly review,” he replies, glancing down at the small table in the centre of the room – clocks the bundles of pills sorted into neat piles, the burner phones, and, oddly enough – a stack of small cards. He frowns internally, gaze flicking back up to Donnie. 

“Don’t really know what there is to review,” Donnie says, voice careful, and then his brow furrows, and he purses his lips, taking Rio in, and there’s a beat, maybe two, when a look crosses his face, and shit, maybe this guy isn’t as dumb as he looks.

“Is this about her?” 

“About who?” 

“About the pretty little mommy who walked in here like she owned the place.” 

Rio arches an eyebrow, tilts his head to the side in put upon confusion. 

“Who you gettin’ around here, man? Nah, it ain’t about nobody but you and me. Think of this like an audit. Me and my boys, we’re the IRS right now.” 

And it’s enough to make Donnie scowl, even if he doesn’t quite look like he believes him, and Rio gestures with a tilt of his chin for Bullet to move, check through the bags of pills, the orders written on scraps of paper, piled up on one of the chairs. Disorganised, Rio thinks disapprovingly, making a mental note. 

He hears before he sees Demon coming back up the stairs from the basement, his footsteps calm and measured, and when he looks over, Demon gives a slight shake of his head. Not here. Rio straightens up a little, readying himself to leave, only then Donnie’s talking again. 

“You sure?” he says, turning enough to see Demon approaching from behind, before looking quickly back at Rio. “I mean, girls love their phones, huh? Maybe you’re after those? Or their wallets? I can tell you there wasn’t anything good in neither. They had maybe two hundred dollars between them.” 

It takes Rio a minute to process it, the silence in the room suddenly deafening over the thrum of his anger, because _of course_ they lost that shit too. Of course Donnie took them. Of course Beth didn’t _tell him_ , and he can only watch as Donnie takes the opportunity to thrust his gun into the back of his pants again, and saunter over to the table, making a production of rifling through that strange selection of cards which suddenly make too much sense, pulling out a slip of frayed cardboard. 

“Unless you’re here for,” he squints, reading it. “Annie Marks’ free coffee at The Big Cup, or hey, look at that,” he glances up at Rio, grin widening, mocking, as he holds up a small, laminated bit of cardboard. “Beth Boland can get you 15% off yarn at Sally’s Craft Warehouse. She’s a gold member.” 

At Rio’s blank stare, Donnie laughs, one of his guy’s behind him chortling too. 

“They seriously work for you? Shit, man, ain’t you branching out.” 

For a minute, all there is is Donnie’s laughter and the weight of Rio’s guys, staring at him, waiting him out. The boy is still nervous in the corner, the dead-eyed one just staring between them, and Rio rocks his jaw a little, chewing over his options, and then thinks, _fuck it_. 

“She leave anything else here?” he asks, and Donnie stops laughing long enough to really look at him, and he sees it, the moment the knowingness in his grin crosses his face.

“Oh, so you’re fucking her,” he says, and Rio replies with a dead eyed stare.

“See, that?” Donnie says, holding up his hand, wagging a finger like he ain’t about to lose it. “That makes more sense. Is she good? I bet she’s good. That smart mouth of hers. Tits like -” 

And whatever he was going to say, they won’t ever know, because Rio nods, and Bullet’s got a hand around Donnie’s throat, slamming him into the wall. Donnie gasps, and Bullet forces his gun into his mouth until he’s choking on it. 

“I think you might’ve misread the situation, man,” Rio says, voice low and mocking, not even sparing Donnie and Bullet a glance as he strides over to the table, rifling through the cards there. He leaves most of it – fuck it, he ain’t gonna weigh himself down with movie club cards and coupons, but he takes the big ones – takes their driver’s licenses, their bank cards, anything with their addresses on it, slipping them into the back pocket of his jeans. Their phones are already in pieces, foraged for scraps, so there ain’t any point salvaging those. It’s the guy who looks like Demon who starts quickly towards Rio, and Rio lifts his gun, shoots him in the knee without even looking. 

The guy howls, dropping to the floor, as Rio steps over him and strides across to Donnie and Bullet, leaning sideways against the wall beside them, watching Donnie scramble at Bullet’s hand, teeth pressed around the barrel of the gun in his mouth. Rio smiles at him. 

“I just don’t think we’re those sorts of colleagues, you know?” he says, brow furrowed in mock thought. “Now my friend here is gonna let you go, and you’re gonna go get me the rest of her things, yeah?” 

There’s an impotent fury in Donnie’s look that calms Rio down a bit, and his grin widens out when the guy finally folds to the inevitable, nodding as Bullet slowly pulls the gun from his mouth and drops his hand. Bullet doesn’t step away though, and neither does Rio, forcing Donnie to slink sideways to move around them, and they watch as he disappears back down the hallway, the only noise his boy’s whimpering from the floor and the heavy breathing of one of Donnie’s other guys, studiously avoiding eye contact with any one of them. 

It’s only a minute, maybe two, before Donnie’s walking back down the hallway, clutching a balled up pink knit blanket in his hands, and _right_ , Rio thinks, biting back the pissed off laugh in his mouth. 

Right. 

“That it?” Rio asks, making his way over, and Donnie nods, making a show of squaring his jaw, offering it up, and Rio grabs it clean from his hands, just staring at him for a minute. Finally, he presses the barrel of his gun to the guy’s lower jaw, watching his eyelids quiver, his breath jump in a way her’s _didn’t_. “It’s your lucky day, man.” 

He lowers the gun, watching relief spill on Donnie’s face, his shoulders sag. 

“Next drop in a week? Tuesday work for you?” 

There’s something a little too satisfying in the way Donnie splutters, looking up at him, shocked. 

“We can’t move all those pills in a week.” 

“Damn, well, you better figure somethin’ out. Bullet here ain’t really one for excuses, and he’ll be your new contact. You guys just seemed to really hit it off.” 

Donnie stares at him, and Rio grins, then looks down, faux concern painting his face as he gestures with his gun to the guy on the floor, watching him flinch away. 

“I think your friend needs to go to a hospital.” 

With that, he pushes his gun into the back of his pants, his other hand still gripping the blanket as he nods to his boys and they head out, leaving Donnie to scramble to keep any respect he ever had from his own boys. Rio rolls his shoulders back, loosening his traps, nodding a _thanks_ to Bullet and Tye as they head back to the warehouse, back to work. And he feels it, Demon’s gaze on him, curious and heavy. 

Rio turns to look at him, hand still caught up in that damn pink blanket, the night thick with an energy Rio can’t name.

“It ain’t nothin’,” he says after a minute, because he has to say something, his voice low and his gaze firm. 

Demon throws up his hands in surrender, keeps them open enough Rio can see that old scar across his palm. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Demon says, and Rio hardens his look. 

“And you won’t.”

He will, and they both know it, to his wife who’ll shoot amused, too-knowing grins at Rio the next time she takes Marcus off his hands for a playdate with their kids, to Cisco back at the warehouse, who’ll keep tight-lipped after he stops laughing, but not to anyone beyond it, not even again to Bullet and Tye. 

“You comin’ back to work?” Demon asks, changing the subject, and Rio nods sharply. 

“After I run an errand.” 

And Demon just laughs, something he cuts off quick, waving Rio goodbye and heading over to his own car, and _stupid_ , Rio thinks, looking down at the blanket in his hands, at the baby softness of it, the well-lived in-ness of it, knows, doesn’t know how he knows, but _knows_ , she made it, and just - - 

_Stupid_.

**Author's Note:**

> My second time writing fic from Rio's POV! Hope it reads okay~
> 
> Title from Foster the People's _Pumped Up Kicks_ because of course it is, haha.


End file.
